


12 Days of Christmas

by Malhearst



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Gen, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 12:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6153930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malhearst/pseuds/Malhearst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Fred lives, Romione didn't happen. When Harry, Hermione and Luna return to The Burrow for Christmas, it is a carousel of snowball fights, Weasley jumpers, snark and mystery. During the twelve days they spend there, the twins seem to be up to something and Hermione can't help but feel as though it somehow revolves around her. Focus on friendships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Partridge in a Pear Tree

On the first day of Christmas, Hermione and Harry arrived together. Hermione, though fond of Mrs. Weasley, also wary of her ever since their fourth year, was wearing a dark blue sweater with a gold-like _H_ sewn on it. Her hair looked big and littered with snowflakes in the big scarf she'd wound around her neck. Harry, only wearing a winter's jacket over a t-shirt, was immediately donned a home-knitted scarf by Mrs. Weasley, earning him a pair of raised eyebrows from Hermione.

  _I told you so._

 Harry shrugged.

 Inside sat Luna and Ginny at the dining table, Luna braiding snowdrops and dirigible plums into Ginny's long, red hair.

 "Hullo, Harry," Luna said in her melodic, far-off voice. Ginny snapped her head to the side, causing a few of the plums to slide out of her hair.

 "Hey, guys!" she said with a big smile. Ginny, though she and Harry had decided to call off their relationship when she took a job offer with the Holyhead Harpies, still had a laid-back, confident way around him and he was infinitely grateful for that.

 "Hey, Luna," he returned, "Hey, Ginny."

 "Hullo, Hermione."

 "Hi, Luna," Hermione said with warmth in her voice, though she glanced at Harry hesitantly as she said it. Though Hermione had grown fond of Luna, they could still be found arguing in the late hours when Hermione found herself full of eggnog and a sceptical approach to Luna's theories. Hermione, afraid that she might revive an old slight, always felt moral hangovers the next day.

 Luna didn't seem to give Hermione's scepticism much thought.

 "Harry! Hermione!"

 The stairs croaked under the weight of the youngest Weasley brother's frantic footfalls, greeting them both in one big, crushing hug. He had grown, not in height but in bulk, amassing just the slightest of weight and muscle.

 They had all changed. Despite Hermione's discomfort, she and Luna had found a common pastime: writing poetry. Luna, of course, wrote about mythical creatures, about hawthorn and about what you might see when holding your hand up in front of the sun (- a whole lot of nothing, Hermione would argue before Harry shushed her -). Hermione on the other hand excelled at complicated metaphors, always somehow revolving around the issue of loss and acceptance.

 Harry had once heard Mrs. Weasley admit that Hermione's "poetry was well performed", which Harry knew to be high praise. Whereas Luna would perform hers with a paper in hand, sometimes dramatically looking up, her voice carrying eerily through the room, Hermione rarely performed in front of friends and family (- and even Mrs. Weasley had only overheard a private session by mistake -) but her words were performed with sincerity and vulnerability and completely by heart. Her voice was alternately safe and cracked and Harry and Ron came as often as she invited them to her public performances.

 They were all in the beginning of their twenties (- Hermione always one year ahead -) and Harry admired his friends more than ever.

 "Harry, mate!" a couple of voices called as the twins followed Ron down the stairs. Halfway there they noticed Hermione who had been somewhat hidden behind Ron's engulfing frame, and Fred said, "And the lady Hermione."

 "Hey, 'Mione," George followed chirpily and they split up, hugging Harry and Hermione in turns.

 Mrs. Weasley suddenly marched in, big, black wellingtons on her feet and a chicken in each hand.

 "Chicken soup, again?" George said cheekily.

 "Mum, really, you're not going to persuade us to drop the Fox Tongue Potion, no matter if they _do_ say you are what you eat," Fred followed up. Then the both of them began clucking and flapping their "wings", walking around the kitchen area in a squatting position.

 "Oh, you two!" Mrs. Weasley snapped. When that obviously didn't work, she took out her wand, saying with determination, "You have until the count of three!"

 "Oh no, she'll do us like one of her cakes!" Fred called, signalling their frenzied, clucking retreat up the stairs.

 "Her cakes?" Harry asked Hermione, who shrugged, looking to Mrs. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley, however, had obviously decided to ignore the comment.

 "She bought a new book," Ginny, whose hair now sat in a long, uneven braid, small hairs sticking out between the larger columns, snowdrops and dirigible plums seemingly haphazardly interspersed, nodded towards a collection of cakes over by the window, each new one in a contorted shape.

 Harry and Hermione glanced at Ron.

 "It's written by Gilderoy Lockhart."

 At this, they exchanged surprised looks. Gilderoy Lockhart's last book had been _Who Am I?_ , his career had been a fraud and all four of them knew him as the most incompetent wizard they had ever met.

 "Well, that explains the cakes I suppose," Harry said.

 Ginny answered, "I suppose she still fancies him a little," at which Hermione blushed.

 "Now, Ginny, Ron, would you mind showing Harry and Hermione up to their rooms?"

 "They've been here almost every summer for the past ten years, Mum, I think they know where to go," Ron said.

 Then Ginny nudged Hermione in the ribs with an elbow and said, "You're with me and Luna."

 A warm smile bloomed on Hermione's face.

 That afternoon, Hermione could be found sitting in the small alcove beneath the stairs. A fully decorated Christmas tree with already a few dozen presents beneath it had taken place next to the fireplace, the top bending forcibly against the ceiling. Hermione was pampering a cup of tea as she sat, watching big, fluffy snowflakes glide through the air.

 "Hermione," someone whispered and she looked up, seeing Fred with his left hand on the stairs, excitedly waving her over with his right.

 Getting up, Hermione trotted around the coffee table and came to his side. He smelled good, like pine and fresh air, and she wondered if he (and George) had been the ones to bring in the Christmas tree.

 "Look," he said, pointing out the doors to figures in the snow, silhouettes washed out against the white hue of winter, tumbling, sliding, completely incapable of standing on their own two feet. Hermione tried to hide a giggle, her body convulsing slightly and making her aware of Fred's sudden proximity. His hand still on the staircase, he was now effectively standing with an arm around her shoulder.

 She looked up and noticed he wasn't looking outside.

 He was looking at her.

 "Fred," Hermione began wilfully and a little warily.

 Fred raised his eyebrows questioningly, to which Hermione shook her head and looked outside again. The warmth pulsating from his torso made her light-headed and she almost leaned back into his arm.

 "I've got it!" sounded suddenly from above and George stormed down the stairs.

 In the confusion, both Hermione and Fred straightened and the moment was lost.

 "Fred, here! I did it!"

 George was shoving one of the chickens (- or was that a partridge -) into Fred's open arms, to which Fred responded, "Brilliant!"

 Hermione, looking on with confusion, said suddenly, "What are you two up to?"

 "Ah, you wound us, Hermione," George said, faking a blow to the heart.

 "Yes, what would possibly make you think we're up to something?" said Fred, winking.

 Hermione crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow.

 "Here," said Fred, dumping the restless chicken into her arms and putting a hand on her shoulder, "You take care of this. That way you'll know we have absolutely no plans whatsoever with that chicken."

 Then he turned towards George and walked away with his twin.

 "But -!"

 "No plans whatsoever, Hermione," called George.

 Hermione, a little clueless, decided to let the chicken loose in Ginny's old room. It was a quaint little place, Quidditch posters ferociously covering at least two of the walls, but it was also a light, breathing place with ferns and potted plants all over the shelves and windowsills. Hermione suspected that most of them had been presents from Neville as she had heard Ginny divulge on several occasions that nothing living could survive her touch.

 It wouldn't surprise Hermione if Luna had done a little to keep them alive over the holidays.

 Setting down the chicken, it immediately ran away from her, making a beeline from her feet to one of the plantless pots, making a determined nest on top of the dirt.

 Hermione, curious, furrowed her brows and went to pick the chicken up. Immediately squawking and flailing, it flapped its wings frenetically, and a drowsy voice called, "What the -! Hermione?"

 Turning around, Hermione saw Ginny, seemingly wakened from an afternoon nap, one leg hanging from the bed while she pushed forward with one hand on the edge of the bed.

 "I don't know. It just- well."

 "What's it doi- Is that one of Mum's chickens?"

 Hermione, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks, said defensively, "Fred gave it to me!"

 Ginny peered at her questioningly for a second.

 "He and George are doing- something. I didn't know what to do with it."

 "Put it back in the hen house?" Ginny suggested, amused.

 "You're right," Hermione said, smiling at herself, wondering why she hadn't done so immediately.

 Rising from the bed and stretching, yawning noisily, Ginny came over to look at it. Placing her hands on her hips, she said, "Well, it looks cosy. Let it stay a little while."

 Ginny looked out the window.

 "It's cold outside."


	2. Two Turtle Doves

On the second day of Christmas, Hermione woke with a start.

The room, darkened and otherwise quiet, seemed to ring with a siren so loud that Hermione could hear even Ginny stir in her bed. A little woozy, Hermione tried to sit up, groaning, a hand to her forehead. The rooster was crowing at the top of its lungs; Ginny was cursing and swinging her legs out over the side of the bed while Hermione placed her hand on the wooden boards, groping for her wand.

At one point, the sound ceased, and Hermione, finally with wand in hand, had to laugh when she saw the reason why.

"Lumos," she whispered irritably, casting light over a highly unusual scene. On the floor by the window now stood a potted plant where, yesterday, there had been none, a chicken lying on top of it, Luna sitting next to it, stroking a mollified and - was that purring - rooster.

"Bloody -" she could hear Ginny croak from her side, "Who let the rooster in here?"

Hermione looked back at Ginny and shrugged, then wiped her eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Six-o-three," came the answer, not from Ginny, but from Luna. Hermione didn't think she had ever seen Luna wear a watch. She would have to ask her about that.

"Well, it can't stay here," said Ginny grumpily.

"You can't take them apart," said Luna, "Look. They're in love."

Holding the rooster up to the chicken, still nesting on what now looked like a small tree, the two of them ran their beaks against the other's. It looked to Hermione more like sharpening a weapon, but she had to admit, staying with the Weasleys was slowly teaching her how little she actually knew about the rather mundane animals.

"Then get the both of them out of here," Ginny said dismissively, and before Luna could respond, Hermione started rising.

"I'll take them."

Luna nodded slowly and Hermione hastily threw on some clothes and came over to receive the rooster from her. It didn't seem altogether happy with the arrangement, but Hermione tugged it under one arm and, the chicken completely unwilling to move from its perch, grabbed the whole pot and plant with her remaining hand.

Then she trotted outside.

It was lightening, the sky a deep marine blue. Silhouettes and contours became slowly saturated and Hermione, carrying two living creatures close to her body, didn't feel half as cold as she had suspected. The morning had a quietude that Hermione found almost magical and she stayed outside for a little, watching the sky changing under her watchful gaze.

Returning inside, instead of crawling back into bed and waking up Ginny and Luna a second time, Hermione retrieved a book she had been reading on magical statures on imposed on beasts and sat down in one of the sofas in front of the fireplace with a blanket on.

When she woke up, the blanket had been pulled up over her shoulder and tugged in underneath her. Apparently, she had fallen asleep during her reading (- 6 o'clock hadn't been a problem in her school days -).

Harry and Ron were sitting in the chairs next to the sofa and she could smell the tantalizing smell of freshly baked bread, bacon and eggs.

"Hey, 'Mione," Ron greeted her evenly. The two of them were playing wizard chess on the coffee table and Ron didn't look at her but rather at the rook he'd just lost to Harry's queen.

"Hey," she said groggily. She sat up slowly.

"Thank you, for this."

Fingers pinching one corner of the blanket, she peeled it off and glanced backwards toward the kitchen.

"Wasn't us," Harry replied distractedly as Ron sent a pawn forward.

"Then who?"

"Dunno." Ron shrugged and smiled at Harry's play. Then he looked up once, moved a knight and said, "Check. Mate."

Harry groaned.

Then he turned towards Hermione and said, "Why did you bring the rooster into your room yesterday?"

"It wasn't me," said Hermione, wondering, "And I don't think it was Ginny either. Although Luna-"

"Can't have been Luna." Harry shook his head. "She was telling us about the Blibbering Humdinger yesterday - when she finally went to bed, the rooster was already in your room."

"Talking our ear off, more like it. But yeah, she caught it in her arms when it tried to run out, Harry's right."

Hermione simply nodded thoughtfully.

Throughout the rest of the day, Hermione could be found sleeping in various nooks and crannies: Under the stairs, snoring up against the doorframe, even while visiting the ghoul in the attic did she take a nap ( _"I just need to close my eyes for a second. No, go on, I'm not sleeping -"_ ).

Sometime in the afternoon, Hermione had sat down with a cup of tea and a book, which, throughout the day, had been read in couples of pages a time.

She woke up to find Fred balancing things on her head.

"Shh, lie still," he  said quietly when she stirred, as if the things he'd placed would fall down from the strength of his voice.

"Your hair really is difficult to balance anything off."

Hermione, still just waking up, waved a hand, annoyed, and straightened. Immediately, a tower of things fell down around her: a pear, multiple golden rings, drums from the Christmas tree, an empty mug, a quill, even one of Molly's cakes - all crashed, Hermione's shoulders at height with her ears.

"Fred!" she said, admonishing him.

"He's not Fred, I'm Fred," called a voice from the other side of the table.

"Nice try, George," Hermione said, smirking, "but playing this _by ear_ will get you nowhere."

Both twins looked shocked.

"Fred, did she just -"

"I think she did, George."

They both began chanting something nonsensical about _earie_ circumstances.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

 "Hermione Granger, I didn't know you had it in you," Fred finally said.

"No, we've always thought Harry was the comedic genius of your group."

"Yes, what a joke," Hermione answered, having the twins roaring with laughter before she could stop herself. A small smile tugged on her lips nevertheless, a sense of satisfaction warming her cheeks.

"Ah, Hermione, there you are."

 Hermione looked up to see Percy standing at the top of the stairs. He began his descent carefully, in complete contrast to the twins' rampant flocking or Harry and Ron's hurried steps. They both worked at the Ministry these days, Percy often exploiting Hermione's expertise and Hermione finding she didn't mind it.

 Though she had never taken to chess the way Ron and Harry had, Hermione had also discovered that she possessed a few strategic skills and that Percy, always eager to please authority, actually listened to her advice when he asked her.

 She couldn't help but smile. She knew what this was about.

 "We need to discuss The Werewolf Registration Act Amendments."

 "No can't do, Persecutor Percy," said George, "We're in the middle of witnessing the birth of sass in Hermione."

 "Nah, that's not fair, George," Fred said, giving him an exaggerated elbow nudge, "Remember when Draco Malfoy joined the Slytherin Quidditch Team."

 Percy, trying to interject, eventually gave up as the twins continued to reminisce about Hermione's snarky accomplishments - imagined as not.


	3. Three French Hens

"The Werewolf Registration Act Amendments -" Percy began self-importantly the next morning as they were eating breakfast, causing the twins to let out long, identical sighs. Hermione was seated next to Percy, but for some reason, he was still talking loud enough to include the whole family.

 On Hermione's right, she felt Harry perk up. It was a personal matter to him - he still struggled to do right by Lupin, by Snape, by Sirius and Hermione sometimes struggled to agree with the people he put on his pedestal but she rarely argued with him anymore.

 Harry still had his temper and his moral compass was too strong to find anything magnetic about Hermione's arguments.

 Down the length of the table sat other people who also perked up, making Percy even louder and more pompous by the grace of their sudden attention.

"As you know -"

"It isn't called the Werewolf Registration Repelling Act, so it's a waste of everybody's time?" Hermione offered, making a row of Weasley siblings on the other side snort into their tea.

 Percy, unappreciative, huffed and said, "Hermione, you have to understand that these things don't simply happen. This is a reform it's better than nothing."

 "Yes, Hermione, can't you understand that Percy doesn't want to work _too_ hard - what if someone thought he was trying?" came George's voice, but Hermione kept looking at Percy who was turning red.

 This obviously wasn't the conversation he had been hoping for.

 "If you must know, it isn't my proposal being debated."

 George was gasping as Fred said, "Shocking!"

 "I would obviously have gone further -" Percy said, apologetic almost, to Hermione. Then, in a tiny voice, he said, "- but my proposal didn't even reach the Minister."

 Hermione, aware that Percy had never experienced such a slight before and feeling guilty for having pushed him hard enough that he had actually filed the proposal without her help, looked at him in horror and commiseration.

 "So you see, they're not ready for such a drastic measure," he finished with a little sigh, readjusting his glasses.

 "I'm sorry, Percy, I didn't know," said Hermione in a steady voice. She noticed the twins had suddenly become very interested in teasing Ginny with something instead.

 "Yes, well, it's all good and well," Percy said, straightening in his seat, finding the ground beneath his feet, "because now you have something to oppose."

 Something akin to a cheeky grin spread across Percy's face and Hermione sat speechless. The twins and Ginny, too, seemed to have notice the sudden development of snark in Percy and if Hermione didn't know better, she would say someone had stunned them.

 "Good," Hermione said lamely when she regained her composure, "Tell me what I'm opposing then."

 Later that day, Harry, Ron and Hermione were discussing the implications of the amendments proposed. All three of them were cosied up with blankets, Hermione with a cup of tea, Harry with a cup of coffee (- he had trouble sleeping he'd told them, napping in the afternoon and going to bed in the early morning -) and Ron with nothing.

 Ron, too, had a job at the Ministry and Hermione suspected he might have chosen it, not because it was a true calling, but because his best friends were there. She doubted he even had a true calling, barring perhaps Wizarding Chess Champion. She also knew he had taken a liking to betting on Quidditch outcomes and for a second, she had to wonder that he was working in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catatrophes instead of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

 "You've gotta admit, 'Mione, the Capture Unit has to be in place. Normal Aurors would have no idea how to deal with a werewolf - no offence, Harry."

 Harry shook his head.

 "That is exactly the kind of talk that keeps werewolves in a state of beastlyhood! You think it sounds reasonable, but you're actually alienating an entire population group, most of which haven't chosen to become werewolves. They're human beings most of the time, Ron! They need help, not to be treated as beasts," Hermione shot back.

 "What about Fenrir Greyback?" Ron said triumphantly.

 "What about him?" Hermione looked at Ron dully.

 "Well, he was a bloody danger to society, wasn't he?"

 "That's not because he was a werewolf!" Hermione began, but she was interrupted as the room suddenly cooled. From the front door they could high-pitched voices creating an unholy harmony.

 "Biiilll! Fleur!"

 "Mauley!"

 "Hi, Mum."

 "Kids! My how you've grown! Would you like some hot chocolate? Come in, come in!"

 At the enticing promise of newcomers, the whole family suddenly appeared on the stairs, walking down single-file to welcome them. Harry, Ron and Hermione, too, stood and came to greet the family. Fleur was carrying little Louis on her arm while Dominique was holding her father's hand, hiding behind his leg. Victoire, too, stood a little in the background, though she must have been six or seven at the time.

 Fleur gave Hermione a warm-hearted hug first while Harry and Ron tried to get a chance to greet Bill. Hermione then crouched down to try to coach Dominique out of hiding. At some point, she succeeded in making Dominique recognise her, to which the small girl's response was flinging herself forward in a desperate hug, clinging to Hermione's neck.

 Hermione almost stumbled and had to reach a hand down to the floor to stabilise herself slightly, the other hand stroking the girl's back soothingly. Looking up in her slight embarrassment, she noticed Fred smiling warmly at the sight and soon looked away again.

 However, he soon crouched beside her, trying to coax Dominique to do - something.

 "Dominique, you know who Santa Claus is?"

 Hermione looked at him, bewildered. She had told the story about Santa, and how she had reacted to the concept, as a cautionary tale, not as inspiration to pass on.

 Dominique looked up with wide eyes, shaking her head.

 "Well, he's a really fat guy who gives children presents on Christmas Eve," Fred said. He was soon joined by George.

 "And you know what we'll be doing today?"

 Dominique shook her head. By now, most of the others were listening intently, though Mrs. Weasley was pretending not to hear and instead showed Fleur her latest Lockhart creations.

 Fred and George both leaned in and whispered something in her ear. The girl's eyes widened.

 "Will we get all the presents then?" she asked hopefully.

 "We will!" answered George excitedly.

 Squealing, the young girl let go of Hermione's neck and flung herself around George's instead. He picked her up and winked at Hermione, carrying her to the fireplace. Her sister followed curiously, and soon the twins were engaging all three of Bill and Fleur's children in dubious activities.

 Hermione, sitting down to play a Gobbledegook version of Scrabble with Luna (- which, mysteriously, Luna always won -), could hear incriminating phrases from her perch.

 She ended up paying more attention to the snippets of conversation from the fireplace and less to the game, thanks to one phrase in particular.

 "But how can he come down the chimney if he's so fat?"

 "It's magic."

 "Then how can we catch him?"

 "We'll set a trap."

 At one point, Hermione found herself almost wishing she was still a child; the wonder and adventure of Christmas at the Burrow was mirrored in their eyes as Fred and George began explaining their crusade tactics to capture Santa.

 Fleur, curious, came over at one point to see what they were doing. The twins had allowed the children to perform simple spells, the kind that wizarding children were aware of before they received their wands.

Straightening from the positions on the floor, the twins stood back a little, backing away towards Hermione and Luna.

"Look at those three," said Fred, indicating Fleur and the girls. Louis was off somewhere in the corner, playing with a small drummer's boy from the Christmas tree.

"It's like a hen pen," George said. Hermione looked up just in time to find Fred winking at her.

"So you put the rooster in Ginny's room yesterday," said Luna quietly. Hermione and the twins all looked at her.

"Huh," said George.

"So much for subtlety," said Fred.

"How'd you know?" asked George eagerly.

"What is it with you two and this fascination with the hens?!" Hermione interrupted no one in particular.

 The twins simply smirked at her.

 "No plans whatsoever, remember, Hermione?"

 Hermione sat back, dumbfounded.


	4. Four Calling Birds

On the fourth day of Christmas, the first owl arrived before dawn. It sat tapping impatiently on the window for a few moments before screeching loudly. Hermione had heard Ginny's tired groan as the window was opened, a cold and a flutter of wings entering.

Something was dropped beside her. Hermione rolled over and slept on.

When she woke up, both Luna and Ginny had left the room. Hermione, forgetting the morning's incident, quickly pulled on a pair of trousers and a t-shirt, trying to tame her hair into hurried braid when something caught her eye.

Stooping down, she picked up the letter.

Ms. Hermione Granger

The Burrow

2nd room on the 2nd floor, south-south-west

The envelope was ebony with lovely, yellow ink and a seal with what looked like an ermine. Curious, she opened it to find a small note with only the word 'One' and a small, wooden token of an owl inside.

"Did you know that the ermine was the original symbol for Hufflepuff House?"

Hermione was placing a book in front of her with a small huff, seating herself in front of Harry, who was watching Ron and Ginny in a barbaric match of Wizarding Chess. Just as she sat down, Ginny's bishop whacked Ron's rook into little pieces, scattering in Hermione's direction.

"Sorry," mumbled Ginny absentmindedly.

"Do you think she's read Hogwarts: A History again?" Ron whispered to Harry, not taking his eyes off the chess board.

"It's not in Hogwarts: A History, Ron, as you would know if you'd ever cared to open the book," Hermione shot back petulantly.

"How do you know?" Harry asked, his eyes alight with sudden interest.

"Well, I received this letter -" Hermione started, showing it to him.

"Who's it from?"

Hermione shook her head.

"No idea."

"That's a first," said Ron, his rook moving into position for a trap that Hermione couldn't remember the name of.

"No you don't," Ginny grunted.

"But it's Hufflepuff colours, so I figured I'd find out what it had to do with an ermine."

Harry, who was opening the envelope, inclined his head towards the book.

"How'd you know where to look?"

"It's a simple search in any library, Harry."

Harry managed to pretend not to have heard. Ron, who had previously been preoccupied with the game, now looked over Harry's shoulder and grabbed the letter.

Hermione looked at the board to see Ginny's kind drop his sword.

"What's One mean?"

"Well, Ronnie, it's the first number of numeral system, which is what humans use to count -" Ginny began, sitting back with crossed arms and a shit-eating grin on her face.

"Shut up. I just meant why's it on this note?"

Hermione shrugged.

"Maybe it's counting your stupid questions and another will arrive within seconds?" Ginny suggested, which earned her a sullen look from Ron.

Just then, a thump was heard and all four of them looked towards the doors leading out to the backyard. Something was flailing around in the snow - almost impossible to see but unmistakably there.

"What are you four doing?" Mrs. Weasley, who had suddenly appeared in the living room, asked.

None of them said anything. Hermione, momentarily unaffected by Mrs. Weasley's demand, was the only one who was still looking at the creature by the doors. Getting up, she opened the doors and picked up the snowy owl at her feet.

"Who's writing us at this time?" Mrs. Weasley asked and Hermione, dusting off the poor owl, gently took the letter from its beak.

"What did I tell you, Ron?" Ginny whispered.

The same address met Hermione, blue ink on brown paper (- there was something poetically just about a Hufflepuff letter being sent in an ebony envelope while Ravenclaw's was sent in ordinary, cheap paper -) and a seal with a bird. She threw it on the table for the other three to see.

"It's for me," she answered Mrs. Weasley's silent inquiry.

"Well, this one is the bloody same, isn't it?" Ron said bluntly, "I mean, Ravenclaw's mascot is already an eagle."

"Actually," Hermione said, "it's a crow."

"How can you possibly see that, Hermione?" Ginny said, studying the seal.

Hermione slid the book to Ginny silently, who began reading from the open page: "Though the founders' houses have all had a change in mascot, perhaps Ravenclaw's isn't so very surprising. After all, a bird is a bird, and the eagle, with its sharp vision, might have seemed like a more logical choice than a crow."

Meanwhile, Hermione was pulling out the note, on which Two was written in readable handwriting.

"But why would someone be sending you clues to the founders' original seals?" asked Harry.

For the third time that day, Hermione had no answer.

When the third and fourth letter arrived (- silver with green ink and a lizard, gold with red ink and a dragon - typical Gryffindor -) Hermione was helping Ginny and Molly bake Muggle cookies and discussing the Amendment Proposal with Percy respectively.

Bill was helping Mr. Weasley tame some wild chickens while Fleur was drinking tea with her daughters, when Louis suddenly came barging into the living room, waving a letter.

"Look what de owl gav' me!"

Fleur, surprised, stooped to pick it up.

"It's furr you, 'Ermione."

Hermione, unsurprised, shot Ginny a quick look, dragging her hands down the apron to free them of flour.

"Who keeps writing you, Hermione?" Mrs. Weasley asked. Hermione, checking that all her premonitions held true, returned to the kitchen area with a shrug and said,

"I have no idea, Mrs. Weasley. They're clues, but I don't know to what."

"And none of these were for Harry?"

A part of Hermione took offense at that, but it was true; it was often Harry people wanted to write and Harry people wanted to engage in quests, treasure hunts or mysterious incidents.

Hermione and Ron often tagged along, but she had never been sought out the way trouble seemed to seek out Harry.

"No," she answered simply.

"Oi, here's another one!" called Ron from his room. "Don't know why it came to me, but it's your name, 'Mione."

"Is it a golden envelope with red ink and a dragon seal with a note inside saying 'Four'?" Hermione called back a little listlessly. The sound of ruffling paper came from the top of the stairs and a slight humming met them while Ron checked.

"Mmmh… Yes!"

Fleur and Mrs. Weasley stared.

Later that evening, Hermione was found outside, packed in her sweater, her coat and scarf, a pillow to sit on, a pillow in the back, a blanket behind her, a blanket around her waist and lap, a blanket around her shoulders, ear muffs, gloves, fat socks, big boots and another blanket around her legs.

Not reading, the witch was simply hugging a cup of tea and staring out into the distance. Around her, the snow lay thick and messy; the boys, especially, spent a lot of time outside and their scattered footprints maimed the finely powdered snow.

The hedge surrounding the Weasley garden didn't obstruct her view of the fields around them, bright, white pastures along the rolling hills that led up to a shadowy cluster of trees, standing stark and naked against the greyish sky.

The sound of the glass doors sliding open behind her didn't cause her to look up.

"Hey, Hermione, Ron and Harry were looking for you, they wanted to -"

Fred's voice trailed off when she didn't react.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

He wasn't wearing much clothes, certainly not enough to sit down on the bench beside her, but he did so anyway. Hermione didn't look.

"Are you okay?"

She kept staring into the horizon, but slowly her lips started forming more than one-syllable words.

"I. Still. Sometimes- when I receive letters- I still hope it's from them."

Fred sat silently for a second before asking.

"Your parents?"

Hermione nodded.

"It's ridiculous; I get letters all the time. From work, from Ron, Harry, Neville, even sometimes from Percy -" beside her, she could hear Fred shuffle a little, "But there's always a part of me, hoping that they have miraculously caught a glimpse of me in a dream, that they're starting to remember that they once had a life - and a daughter - here."

"Have you considered visiting them and telling them?"

Hermione's voice hardened a little as she shook her head and said, "It wouldn't be fair. They think they're just an ordinary couple, who lives in Australia. They have a life now. Even if I could bring back their memories, which I can't, they have friends, jobs, an entire belief system built up around the life I made for them. They may even have had more children."

Her voice cracked a little.

An arm steadied her, around her shoulder and drawing her into a loose, but warm hug. Hermione turned her head and buried her face in Fred's shirt. She wasn't crying and the scent of him calmed her down somewhat.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, one of his hands on the back of her head, the other rubbing her back.

"It's not your fault."

Fred didn't respond to that.


End file.
